Redux:  A Criminal Minds FanFiction
by Elijah Maddoxx
Summary: As the past collides with the present, a teenager's tumultuous life is altered forevermore once an FBI Profiler crosses his path, and situations begin to unfold. Derek Morgan and OC centric. *Rated M for violence, gore and language.* Not slash or fluff.
1. A Hellacious Ascent

**CHAPTER 1 - A HELLACIOUS ASCENT **

Cold dead eyes gaze up from the pool of blood the body lay in, the torso riddled with bullet holes. The agent's menacing eyes stared back, his heart carrying no remorse whatsoever for what he was forced to do. It was merely out of self defense. A little anger? Possibly. He wasn't foolish enough to deny it. He didn't think anybody could see what he saw and not be coursed with anger.

"All clear," he coldly said, talking into a device fastened to the bottom of his wrist.

He glared at his handy work for a few seconds more. This wasn't the first time had had taken a life. Sometimes he empathized, sometimes, he didn't. This was one of those latter times. The bastard had it coming, as far as he was concerned.

He slowly holstered his weapon wiping a sweat drop from his perspiring forehead.

It was then that something caught his attention. He glanced over towards the corner of the room next to the body, revealing the reason he was in the house in the first place. A small child, shivering, was huddled in between the nook of the connecting walls, terrified and traumatized. The agent's cold hearted demeanor instantly changed, his eyes having left the suspect, and now focused on the victim. He slowly approached the child, removing his blue bullet proof FBI vest that had been fastened against the white T-shirt that clung to his muscular frame and was tucked into his dark gray, almost black jeans. The little guy huddled closer to the corner, not really trusting this stranger who he just saw brutally gun down the monster he had once feared. The agent sensed his terror as he slowly kneeled, holding up his hands showing that he wasn't there to harm him. The child grew more and more anxious as a soft cry escaped his lips, tears beginning to steam down his face.

"Hey, it's OK," the agent said softly, still in the kneeled position. He glanced from the boy's face to his leg and observed a dark multicolored bruise. He sighed lightly, closed his eyes, turned his head and bit his lower lip, his heart paining at the thought of someone being cruel enough to hurt a child, something he personally couldn't ever dream of doing. A hint of internal rage suddenly came and went, but he didn't show it. He quickly gathered his emotions. "I'm just going to take a look at your leg, OK," he said as he looked back at the wound with sad, sympathetic eyes.

He softly cupped the child's tiny injured limb with his hand that practically dwarfed it in size. A wave of pain caused the boy to scream out, literally ripping the agent's heart to shreds as he lightly gasped, his eyes widening and his mouth falling slightly open, and he quickly moved his hands away from the boy's tender spot. When it came to children, they were without a doubt his softest spot. He saw them as the most innocent and vulnerable of victims. Anyone who was cold hearted enough to bring harm to a child, he felt, didn't deserve to live. He got emotionally involved in cases some times. It was just natural for his morality to come out, even if it was at an inappropriate time.

"Morgan, we're coming in now!" His boss's emotionless voice suddenly came in through his earpiece, catching him off guard. He glanced over at the window, the dark streets flooded with red and blue lights flashing intermittently. That image was all he saw, but they were all outside, waiting on instructions to enter the house. Local Law Enforcement assisted by SWAT and the FBI, none of which was needed after he had already ran inside, out of pure instinctual emotion at the sound of a young victim's torturous screams.

His boss had shouted after him, but he knew there was no stopping the foolishly brave FBI agent from putting his life on the line for the sake of stopping the outright injustice that weighed heavy on his heart. At the sound of gunshots, they were ready to rush in, but were told not to. They stood beside their vehicles, and waited for a cue. The cue had not come. Then, there it was, those two words. Two simple words that notified the officers and agents that the suspect was dead, and that the agent was still alive and kicking.

The agent however realized it was still too soon for them to rush in.

"Hotch, not yet, tell them to stay back." He knew he needed to get the boy out of there to seek much needed medical attention. The kid couldn't walk. His leg was badly injured. Morgan knew what he had to do. He had to carry the child out of the house. But in order to do so, he had to gain his trust, which he realized could possibly be a difficult task. The child looked up at the agent, his big brown eyes like swimming pools, holding in the tears. Morgan's brown eyes met his, and somehow created an instant calming affect.

"It's OK little man," he said again, catching the boy's tears with his index finger.

"My leg," the child whimpered, pointing to his injured limb.

"I know," replied the agent, softly, his compassionate eyes still looking into the boy's. The child whimpered again, but this time pointed at the dead body of his attacker lying on the floor. Morgan realized what the boy was indicating. The child was too young to understand what death was, despite the bloody lifeless corpse lying before him. To him, the monster was sleeping, and he was afraid he'd wake up and attack him again. He had no full comprehension that Morgan had actually ended his life.

"I promise you, he cannot hurt you anymore," Morgan softly reassured. The boy wasn't so sure of his words. How did Morgan know that, his pre-matured brain pondered? How did he know Morgan himself might not try to hurt him? He didn't. He didn't know who this strange man was. FBI? What does that mean? What if Morgan did the same thing to him that he did to the monster?

"Hey…," he tenderly began, "listen….I know you're scared…but I have to get you out of here so some people can see what's wrong with your leg." He reached his arms out in an attempt to scoop up the child, but the kid went into a terrified fit, and huddled closer to the corner. Morgan backed up and sighed, frustratingly, but not angrily. He couldn't be angry. The kid had good reason to be terrified. Had Morgan not have gotten there when he did, there was a good chance that kid would have been beaten to death by his foster father. The boy had already witnessed and gone through way more than he ever should have. He was only 3 years old. So innocent. So fragile.

The officers and agents continued to impatiently remain outside the house, waiting for orders to go in. Morgan knew all those officers rushing in would terrify the young boy even more. He needed this quiet time to build a rapport. To get the boy to trust him enough to climb into his arms and be taken to an ambulance, where he desperately needed medical attention.

He made one last attempt at this feat. He slowly took the boys tiny little hand and put it into his. Surprisingly, the kid showed no signs of resistance, indicating some progress.

"Hey," the agent began, looking back into the child's innocent face, "I promise you, little man, I won't hurt you." He took his thumb and gently wiped away more tears that streamed down the little boy's face as he continued talking to him, softly, and compassionately. "I would _never_ hurt you. What that bad man did to you was wrong, and I made him pay for that. I'm only here to make sure you're safe, and I need you to trust me. I have to carry you out of here, to the doctors outside who can help make your leg feel alot better, and make sure you're not badly hurt. OK?"

He didn't really know if the 3-year-old could totally understand him. How much of that did he really comprehend? He feared that it wasn't much. However, his question was answered when the child stopped crying, and stuck out his arms, reaching for Morgan. A relieved sigh forced itself out of Morgan's mouth as he smiled, and took the small boy into his arms. He held him for a few minutes and found himself softly kissing the child on the top of his head, a parental instinct emerging from a man who didn't even have children of his own. "You're OK" he softly said twice, the child's head comfortably buried into the agent's chest. Morgan wondered if this had actually been the first time someone had held him like this, if this was the first time this child had been shown this kind of compassion and care. He shuddered, mentally, at the thought if of his wonders having validity. A child living three years in this life without love, without someone to care for him, to hold him, to make him feel safe in his most vulnerable of times. Morgan wondered how any child could endure such an environment and grow up healthily.

Morgan still held the child tenderly as these thoughts continued to roll through his mind. They tugged hard at his heart strings, each thought making him less and less willing to ever let this boy go. The things this child had seen, felt, and lived through. Morgan wanted to feel like he could be the one to make all of his pain go away. But he knew he had a job to do, and kind of hated the thought that his profession frowned upon exactly these kinds of antics that led to attachment. This is where it became hard for him to balance his vocation and his morality.

He continued to quietly hold the 3 year old until he felt the child was comfortable enough with him to trust him. The boy never made a sound, still resting comfortably in the same position – so comfortably – that sleep had slowly started to overtake his weary and exhausted little body.

"OK, let's get you out of here," said Morgan, softly, his voice vibrating through his chest, gently massaging the child's sleepy little head. To pick him off the floor, he had to change the boy's position a little bit, which he hated to do because of how contented the child was.

"Hold on," he said, trying to elevate the boy's body a little more, avoiding any contact with the bruised limb. The child's head softly draped over Morgan's shoulder, his teary eyes opening back up, and then slowly closing once more. Morgan put his right hand gently over the back of the child's head, softly smoothing his fingers through his short but slightly thick black hair repeatedly, as the boy drifted in and out of consciousness. His tired little ovular face told the story, his body becoming too weak to go on. His wispy arched eyebrows lightly twitched, his tiny little button of a nose sniffling.

Once Morgan had a good grip, he was ready for the short journey out of the house. As he left the bedroom where the incident took place, a wave of protective emotion came over him. Paternal instincts kicked in that he didn't even know existed. Was this how he would feel one day when he had his own child, nestled safely in his arms? He made his way through the dark kitchen, moving a white and light brown colored dining room chair out of the pathway with his foot. The part of the house he was in was dark. It didn't bother him because he knew he had already eliminated the threat that had been inside. He continued on, through the long kitchen, shuffling past the counter topped island permanently attached to the middle of the floor.

As he reached the living room, suddenly, he heard a loud crashing sound. He spun around and instinctively reached for his holstered glock, ready to fire at the first thing his eyes came across. He didn't even have hold of the weapon that long, before he saw what had caused the crash. A gray and white striped Abyssinian feline scurried away from the trash can it had knocked over in the kitchen, and ran into the bedroom, where Morgan had just left. The cat stumbled upon its deceased owner, fixing its vivid blue and yellow eyes onto his stone dead face. The feline then sniffed an area where one of Morgan's bullets had penetrated the flesh, leaving a bloody hole. To the agent's dismay, the animal began softly licking the blood out of the wound, almost enjoying its crimson metallic taste. Morgan backed up, somewhat disgustedly, and turned around, continuing through the living room, and out the front door.

Seeing Morgan emerge from the house with the child, the police and SWAT officers ran inside to check the perimeter. EMT's followed closely behind to remove the bloody corpse of the unsub. They ran by Morgan, almost seeming like in slow motion, as he methodically walked, the child's head still nestled comfortably in the same position. He paid absolutely no attention to the scenery around him. Everything became a blur. His line of sight was the back of the ambulance nearest to him. As he approached it, he patted lightly on the sleeping boy's back, suddenly waking him. "I'm going to put you down in here, OK?" he said in almost a whisper.

As he quickly glanced down at the concrete below, he kept a tight but not too tight grip on the boy's tiny body. He lifted his leg, put it down onto the bumper of the ambulance, and then exerted his full weight on it, lifting the rest of his body into the air, the other leg, coming into contact with the inside floor. He slowly approached the small bed fastened to the cold steel, and softly placed the child onto it. As the EMT's inside strapped the boy down to keep him secure for the ride, the agent proclaimed his intentions.

"I'm Agent Derek Morgan with the FBI. I'm gonna be this kid's escort to the hospital. He's got a badly bruised leg, possibly broken. "

The 3 year old's nervousness returned again, in the form of a worrisome look on his face that began to slowly materialize. Noticing it quickly, Morgan took the child's hand into his, and flashed him that empathetic look he had seen quite a lot of.

"Morgan." The agent didn't have a chance to say a word to the boy. Hearing his name, he turned his head to see Aaron Hotchner standing outside the ambulance doors with his signature blank expression. Morgan looked back at the child and rubbed his fingers lightly across the boy's forehead. "I'll be right back, OK?"

"Hotch…" acknowledged Morgan, hopping from inside the ambulance, down to the ground, walking towards his boss.

"You deliberately disobeyed my orders!" scolded the unit chief, his expression maintaining it's vacuity.

"Hotch, can we not do this right now?" replied Morgan in a soft but frustrated tone, running his hand from his thick finely groomed eyebrows, all the way across his smoothly faded head.

"Morgan, you know we had a plan…." Morgan cut him off. "And your plan took too long to develop."

Hotchner paused for a moment. "Excuse me?" He replied, taken aback while his expression remained the same.

"Hotch, with all due respect, that child's life was in danger. His foster father was beating him senseless, and I was not about to stand here and continue listen to that boy's screams."

"And it's exactly that kind of rash decision making that causes these cases to go badly."

Morgan held firm on his position as his tone conveyed a hint of clear frustration. "Well, this time it didn't. I took out the threat, and got the child out of that house safely…"

"This time." Rebutted Hotchner, quickly.

Morgan pointed towards the open ended ambulance behind him. "Hotch, he is hurt. But nowhere near as badly as he could have been had we continued to just stand here and let this go on."

Hotchner held his ground. "Morgan, you can't just run onto a crime scene like a cowboy and risk your life…"

Morgan shook his head "No. What I can't do is stand idly by and listen to a vicious crime being committed, taking my sweet time responding for the sake of FBI methodical bullsh…."

"Morgan.."

Hotchner cut him off before he was able to finish his last word. Morgan stuck his jaw out, pushing his lips together as he frustratedly stood there a moment more, before silently turning around.

"Where are you going?" asked Hotchner, responding to Morgan's movement.

"I'm riding with him to the hospital." Replied Morgan, preparing to climb back into the back of the ambulance.

"If you get in that ambulance, I will suspend you."

Morgan spun his head around once more. "WHAT?" he shot back bewilderedly.

"You heard what I said."

"Hotch, come on!"

Hotch started to walk towards Morgan. "You get in that ambulance and this case becomes personal. That boy is a foster child and I know what the outcome will be. You'll get attached and I cannot allow that to happen. The BAU won't tolerate it."

"Hotch, I really don't give a damn about the rhetoric right now…"

"Well unfortunately for you, I have to. It could cost me my job and yours as well if I allow you to do this."

"Hotch, you have no idea what it took for me to gain his trust, just so I could carry him out of the house. He's terrified right now. He has NOTHING. He's only what, 2 or 3 years old? He has already lost everything, man. I hate to say this, but I'm all he has right now, because he doesn't have anybody else. He's starting to get the idea that I saved his life."

"Morgan…."

Hotchner was cut off by disturbing sounds coming from the ambulance, sounds that were familiar to Morgan. The child had started to go into another frightened fit, screaming and crying frantically. EMT's were apparently attempting to calm him down, but the boy wouldn't have any of it. Morgan, instinctively spun around and hopped up into the ambulance, his heart racing.

"MORGAN!" shouted Hotchner from the ground, shock running through his mind. When he saw that the agent completely blew him off, he let out a sigh, and then hopped into the ambulance as well to check things out for himself.

"Watch out guys," instructed Morgan as he lightly pushed the two EMT's out of his way. He slowly leaned in towards the tussling toddler, making his own attempts at calming him down. "Heeeyyyyy, Heeeyyyy, It's OK. It's OK. You're OK." When he saw he was making no progress, he quickly removed the straps of the gernie and took the boy into his arms once more, holding him tenderly hoping it would somehow help. As Morgan sat down, the 3 year old slowly started to calm down, much to the relief of everyone in the ambulance. Morgan flashed an empathetic look towards Hotchner, as he continued cradling the child.

The unit chief had seen enough to persuade him to go against his feelings of foreboding. "Call me when you get to the hospital," he quickly said, nodding his head and exiting the back of the ambulance. As he walked out of view, Morgan tried to talk the child into going back onto the gernie. The boy flat out resisted, and tightened his grip around Morgan's torso, as he whimpered once more. Morgan looked over at the EMT's, and raised his eyebrows.

"So, what do we do?" He asked, flatly.

One of the guys nodded at the other. "Just hold onto him on the way there and we'll worry about getting him on the bed once we get to the hospital."

Morgan nodded as one of them left the back of the ambulance and proceeded to close the doors, leaving the other one to ride in the back with Morgan and the child. Before they knew it, the ambulance was on its way to its destination. The driver chose not to blare the sirens, due to there being no real emergency. The boy had quieted down at this point, as he was back in his place of familiarity. Morgan couldn't help but smile at how attached the kid was to him already. He really didn't mind. Although he didn't grow up parentless, he did know what it was like, not to have a father. His father was a police officer, who was off duty when he was shot and killed right in front of Morgan when Morgan was just 10 years old. It is that image that has stuck with him over the years. Thoughts of his father would reoccur everytime he did something good. He could feel him, watching over him, approving of him carrying on in his place, doing the kind of work he had sacrificed his life doing. That's what kept Morgan going. He knew his dad would be especially proud now, knowing that his son had rescued a defenseless child from an abusive foster home.

At just 26 years old, this would be Morgan's very first defining BAU case. But he knew deep down, as much as he despised it, that Hotchner was right. He needed to cut ties with this kid as soon as humanly possible, for the greater good. There was just something about this kid. Something that made Morgan feel personally responsible for him, and he couldn't really pinpoint it. As close and comfortable as the child felt with the agent, Morgan felt equally as familiar.

Was there any way I could adopt this kid? There it goes. Right there. That's what Hotch was talking about. These very thoughts. Morgan once again was wrestling with his heart. He feared what would come of this whole situation. What would happen to this kid once he was fully back in foster care. Would he be placed with a good family? Would he be officially adopted? There was no telling what the future would hold, and it was frightening to Morgan. He didn't know what to do, but he would soon find out.

Back at the crime scene, Aaron Hotchner stood surveying over the site with Senior Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon, and the Quantico Chief of Police.

"Are you sure we need a coroner when the cause of death is apparent?" questioned Gideon.

The chief kept his eyes fixed on the work being done in the house. "It's protocol, not to mention that the suspect isn't the only dead body we have on our hands."

"Are there any other victims?" asked Hotchner.

"The suspect's wife, Analeese Bradley, who was found just a few minutes ago in a large recycling bin in the garage, mutilated."

Gideon glanced over at the police chief "Can we look at the foster child as a possible victim?"

The police chief's eyes bounced back and forth from Gideon to Hotchner. "A victim that survived thanks to your lone ranger of an agent there."

"Sorry about that." Replied Hotchner, embarrassed, but hiding it.

The police chief smiled. "Hell, I'd have done the same thing, myself." He then walked away from the two men, heading for the house. Paramedics had the unsub's corpse already placed in a body bag and were bringing it towards the coroner's van. Another paramedic emerged from the house, with the strange Abyssinian feline cradled in his arms.

"Morgan's at the hospital with the foster child." Reported Hotchner to Gideon. "The boy suffered a bruise on his leg, possibly a break. I wasn't going to let him go, but…"

"He was the only one who could keep him calm." finished Gideon, picking up on the situation fairly quickly.

Hotchner flashed Gideon an uncertain look. "You know where this will lead?"

"Do you?" replied the veteran agent.

Hotchner hesitated for a moment, looking at the ground. "I don't know."

"I think Morgan's got a pretty good head on his shoulders. You should trust him a little bit more than you do."

"It's a little hard to when everything I do now is under constant scrutiny."

"Hotch, you've been unit chief for two weeks, don't be so paranoid. They gave you the promotion for a reason."

"Part of me thinks it was just to spite Strauss."

"Morgan will be fine. I know he's gonna do the right thing."

"That's just it. In this scenario, what exactly _is_ the right thing?"

"That's what he's gonna have to figure out."

9


	2. Behind The Mask

**CHAPTER 2 - BEHIND THE MASK**

Darkness befell the room from corner to corner, an aura of smothering sinister void. The moon hung high in the sky, a jailed prisoner of the clouds, hidden from site, its natural light blocked. Then, a flash, then two more, quick and intermittent. The sky explodes in a thunderous clap, rumbling following directly after, trailing off as the sound dies down. The inhabitant glances over at the clock, face breaking out in an icy sweat as he lies in bed.

12:44AM. What day is it? That's right. Monday…the 28th…the last day of the month of February. Why is it so cold in this room? A sudden chill shoots through the inhabitant's body, causing an uncontrollable shiver to escape him. His skin feels alive, as if it were made of a million tiny organisms moving in different directions all at once. He gets a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Another sudden bright flash of lightening, followed by an unpredicted burst of thunder that causes the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. That one sounded close! He thought to himself, wiping a sweat drop from his cold forehead. He shivers once more, then pushes the covers off of him, sitting directly up in bed.

"I can't get warm for the life of me," he says out loud. He glances to his left, fixing his eyes on the open window directly across from him, his twin sized bed completely out of his lower peripheral vision. The red drapes fell victim to the strong winds that completely dominated their movement, pushing back with hard force, their ends waving violently like flags on the hood of a speeding car. The inside windowsill under the doors continued to dampen with each and every drop collecting, some spilling off from the small puddles already visible. "Crap!" he said out loud, noticing the rain coming inside of his room. He attempts to turn his body to the left, his intention being to go shut the window. His back and lower legs were stiff and pained every second he moved. His legs draped over the edge of the bed, the floor suddenly starting to look far away. Was he imagining it?

Man, I feel like I got hit by a truck! He lowers his head as his hand instantly rises to his forehead. This is probably what a hangover feels like. He smiled at his thought, but the smile quickly faded as a random stick suddenly flew through the window and smacked him right in the forehead, the speed being the driving force behind the severity of the impact. "OWWW!" he bellowed angrily. "WHAT THE HELL?" He rubbed the spot tenderly, and brought his hand down under his face. A flash of lightening provided enough quick light to reveal blood on his fingers. "Well, this is just nice," he groaned, more thunder exploding in the sky, sounding farther off this time.

A whispering sound caught his attention. Focusing on it, he realized it was the eerie sound of the wind blowing through his window, through the cracks of his door, and down the staircase. The staircase outside of his room made the creepiest sound whenever the wind managed to find its way in. The sound sometimes sent a chill down his spine, uneasiness finding a place in his soul. Usually, that's when he would turn on his box fan. The roar of the fan was loud enough to block any other sounds that might make him nervous. The sound actually made him feel safe at times. Turning on that fan didn't seem like a bad idea now, but he wanted to shut the window first, before another potential projectile has the opportunity to catch him off guard.

He lurched forward, attempting to put his feet on the floor. As soon as they made contact with the ground, his legs crumpled from underneath him, gravity bringing down the rest of his body. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, tightening his lips as the pain shot through him. His legs were numb beyond comprehension, completely asleep. "That was smart," he said to himself, lying face first onto the floor, arms outstretched.

He now felt the rain on his face. He glanced up at the window again, the swaying of the trees outside informing him that the wind was picking up speed. The streetlight pole outside was slightly moving as well, the scene becoming somewhat reminiscent of a hurricane. It kind of mesmerized him, as he found himself infatuatedly staring at it blankly. Then, another lightning flash. This time, when the sudden bright light disappeared, thus did the illumination of the streetlight, both, gone in a single flash. Crap, does this mean what I think it means? He looked back at the powerstrip next to his nightstand. The button on the front of it was supposed to be glowing, signaling that it was plugged in and on. It was not. "Dammit," he sighed to himself. There went his idea of turning on that fan.

Suddenly, he heard movement, movement he was able to effectively separate from all the other sounds. It was coming from behind him. He instantly got quiet, and let the natural resonance from outside take control of the environment. Fear began to grip at his heart as its thudding increased. He was afraid because he knew what was behind him. Knowing that, he did not want his mind to start running ramped, simply because of the ominous setting. The room was pitch black now, no light whatsoever. His breathing picked up, as more and more foreboding thoughts began to race through his head. He tried to block them out, but they were unrelenting. Then, the movement picked up. He could hear things crashing around behind him. Please God, don't let somebody be in the closet. How could they have even gotten in?

His legs were slowly starting to regain their feeling. It brought him a miniscule of relief, thinking that he might have a chance to use them if he needed to. Then, he heard banging on the closet door, which continued to intensify. He mustered enough strength to turn his body around to see the door moving violently, like a rabid pit bull was trapped behind it. He tried to stand up, but his legs were still not strong enough, and he flopped right back down on the ground. He panicked wildly, his breathing hysterical. He was hyperventilating now, as he crawled in a reverse position, his butt and hands on the ground behind him. He continued moving until the wall where the window sat, brought him to a halt.

Suddenly, the door flew off its hinges, a bright light shining vividly, directly into his retinas. He was blinded, temporarily, pain brewing in both eyes. At this point, his legs were wide awake, full feeling returning to them. He mustered enough strength to actually stand up now. Still blinded, he got to his feet, and rubbed his eyes a few times. He then opened him, his vision completely blurry. Then, it started to change, becoming clearer and clearer, till it was at full clarity. Once his vision returned to normal, his eyes were fixed directly onto the opened closet. He saw nothing but a few toppled boxes. His nervousness dropped a bit.

He became frozen in place, afraid to move out of absolute uncertainty. What just happened? He said to himself. He managed to force himself to walk towards the closet, inspecting it to see if there was anything in it. He mentally prayed to God there wasn't. As he got to the door frame to peer inside, he heard a metallic sound behind him that made him spin around instantly. From his vantage point, he noticed something was off with the window. Glancing behind him quickly, he headed back towards it with a leery gait, his anxiety beginning to rise again. As he got closer, he saw why it looked so odd. The screen was missing from it. A bewildered look formed on his face as he put his hands on the sill and proceeded to look out of it. He looked to his left, and then to his right as the rain wrapped wind attacked his head relentlessly. He didn't see anything and sighed.

Suddenly, he felt a set of hands around the top of his head, yanking him upward. His heart rate instantly sped up, the fear returning in one massive spike. The fingers on the hands were now grabbing gobs of the hair on his head. He cried out as he felt his feet leaving the inside floor. "HELLLP! OH MY GOD! HEELLLLP!"

He ascended until he was completely out of his room and his whole body was outside. He dangled three stories off the ground from his hair as he continued to scream for help, his eyes shut, head forced upward. The fear manifested itself into a crying fit as the rain masked his tears. He was really crying. He didn't want to die. Not now. He was too young with such a potentially long life ahead of him. He forced his eyes open, looking straight up into the face of the individual he was sure was about to kill him. The killer sported a clown mask over his face, an evil mask with a rainbow colored afro wig over the top of it. The facial design mirrored a spider web, with a strawberry shaped nose, and a skeleton-like mouth. The eyes were upside down diagonal scalene triangles, which were tinted over with black cloth, hiding the killer's true eyes from site. A clown mask? Was this some kind of sick joke? He hoped it was, but it didn't look like it.

An evil laugh escaped the killer's skeletal mouth. But it was no ordinary laugh. He hadn't stopped at the clown get up. He had a voice box too, that made his voice sound deep and growly. It sent waves of fear coursing through every inch of the victim's body.

Then, he started ascending again, as the killer's arms pulled his victim up once more, closer and closer to his face. The victim was balling like a baby at this point, as the evil laughter continued. He ascended upward and upward, until his face finally met that of his assailant's. The killer let out another evil laugh and let go of the victim's hair with one of his hands, keeping a firm grip with the other. The victim's eyes were back open. The rain showed signs of easing off until it abruptly stopped. Lightening flashed, three times in a row, followed by an earsplitting burst of thunder. The victim couldn't have gotten anymore petrified at this point. His heart was getting the workout of a lifetime. It was the end. He was sure of it.

The killer reached into his pocket, and pulled out a shiny colt .45 pistol, then waved it in front of his victim's face, laughing sinisterly. He cocked the gun, with the same hand, and then dug it into the victim's forehead, the hard metal barrel causing pain to the area. The victim couldn't breathe, as his hyperventilation returned. The killer than began humming a familiar tune, the voice box making it sound ten times more eerie than it might have sounded normally. The tune, was pop goes the weasel, which the killer was humming gleefully. This was the end. There were no more doubts about it.

He got closer…and closer….and closer….the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought it was all in fun….the victim gritted, fully prepared to meet his maker. But then, nothing happened. The killer had stopped the song. The victim kept his eyes tightly shut, his eyelids almost bursting.

"Shawn." He heard the killer say with that sinister voice box. How did the killer know his name? "Shawn." He said it again. "Shawn." It was as if he was trying to get his attention before he was about to kill him. The killer repeated Shawn's name 3 more times, before Shawn finally opened his eyes, and peered into the clown mask. The killer then said Shawn's name one last time before finally pulling the trigger.

BOOM!

"Shawn…Shawn….SHAWN!...WAKE UP!"

The boy's head shot off the desk, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He deeply inhaled, repeatedly for a few minutes, scared and confused. "Where am I?" He said out loud. "Am I alive?" He glanced over towards his best friend, who was the one who had just woken him up. "Sergio, is that you?"

"Mr. Reece." A familiar voice broke the tension. Shawn glanced over at a corpulent woman standing near the white board, markers in one hand, eraser in the other. She wore a tightly fitted white shirt, with a decorative pi symbol on it, the shirt tucked into her tight fitting blue jeans, conveniently missing a belt. She did not look amused as she gazed upon him, disapprovingly.

"Mrs. Holder?" He said, tiredly, still not fully aware he was back into reality.

"Mr. Reece, the next time you come to my class, you better come fully rested."

"Class?" He asked, his memory starting to return to him. "Wait…what did I miss?"

"You missed a test, Mr. Reece, which you now have an automatic zero on."

"Wait…wait…a test? Mrs. Holder, can I please take it right now. How much class time is left."

Sergio sympathetically sighed, grabbed Shawn by the shoulders, and instructed him to look around the empty room. "Class is over holmes."


	3. Promise In The Dark

**Author's Note:**_ Been a long time huh? I apologize for taking so long to get this updated. Between college, health issues, my horrific attention span, and periodic waves of despondence, while this fic has never left my mind, it has had to take a back seat, unfortunately. College is now on hold for the next two months as I enjoy my summer vacation and return in the Fall, so, I've been working past every blockage with every bit of motivation and perseverance I can conjure up to set out and finish what I started. I appreciate your patience, as well as all the wonderful reviews and favorites. Keep em coming, especially the reviews. Feedback gives me the strength, motivation, and determination to continue. :3_

Now, I'm aware that in order to maintain the pace and the intriguing factor of this story, that some things might be altered as it relates to the series, to fit with the story, so it could become kind of an AR from here on out, while maintaining as much as possible, the authenticity of the real events that happened on the show over the years.

_As aforementioned, I absolutely do not own any of the characters whose names you know from the series, although I wish I had ownership of the Morgan character so I could take it to new heights! Admittedly my favorite along with Rossi, Garcia. Love all of them, but we all have our favorites, right? ;) _

_Enjoy, and lemme know how I did. _

**CHAPTER 3 – Promise In The Dark **

"_**That's what it takes to be a hero, a little gem of innocence inside you that makes you want to believe that there still exists a right and a wrong, and that decency will somehow triumph in the end"**_

_~ Lise Hand_

The noises in the atmosphere became a mesh of a reverberated rumble. The illumination became too much for the pupils to bear as bright lights quickly turned into a vivid blur. His head was throbbing, his intractable body drained of every ounce of energy it once possessed. All he could do was lay his head back down on the firm foundational shoulder of his rescuer, eyes too weak to force open. He could feel his mouth drooping loosely as slight sniffles and a hint of wheezing indicated a brewing cold.

He forgot where he was, but he knew he was moving, and moving at a substantial pace. No strength to react, he could do nothing but exist there, the battle with his eyelids still raging, a battle he knew he was losing. He could hear talking, but the combination of overwhelming lethargy and his underdeveloped brain made it difficult to comprehend the conversation. Every time his rescuer replied he could feel the vibration conjured up from the individual's vocal chords, a feeling that became somewhat soothing in a sense, and made him want to stir less and less.

A sudden change of light indicated a sudden change of setting. Drawing attention to it, his eyes suddenly shot open, self-sufficiently. He was still moving, but the air was no longer hot and muggy. An instant chill greeted him and remained a constant companion, whether wanted or unwanted.

The blurriness of his vision faded and his attention immediately lunged at the sight of individuals wearing white dress shirts with logos on their shoulders, blue rubber gloves smothering their hands. They were entering through a set of glass sliding doors he could see while looking straight ahead of him. He instinctively lifted his head up off of the shoulder, and spun it around behind him. Seeing the small mobile bed that awaited him, he tightened his grip on his rescuer, a whine suddenly invoking inside if him.

"It's okay," a smooth voice cooed. He felt that vibration again, but it wasn't enough to arrest his feelings of foreboding this time. As they approached the bed, they were greeted by two more of the men in uniforms.

"It's okay, we'll take him from here,"

"No, no…I think I should go back with him," the voice protested.

"I'm sorry sir, we cannot permit you beyond this point."

"No, see, you don't understand…"

"Sir..."

"This kid is traumatized and I'm the only one that can keep him stable."

"I understand that sir, but it's protocol that we ask you to remain out here until a doctor informs you it's clear to come back."

"But you know I'm an FBI Agent."

"Agent Morgan, if it was up to me, I would let you back there, but our supervisor is here, and we have to ask you to wait in the lobby. The little guy's gonna be fine, I assure you."

Morgan realized it was no use to continue to object. He turned to the alert child, hoping for his attention. "Michael…listen to me, okay? We're going to put you on this bed, and these nice men are going to take you to go make sure you're alright."

"no…" whined the 3 year old in an innocently barely audible tone.

He knew this wouldn't be easy, but he didn't want another struggle. He reasoned as sensitively as he could. "Michael, I promise you, I'll be right there in no time."

The toddler continued his repudiation. "No….."

"Michael…" begged Morgan once more, before being cut off by the child.

"No…" This time, it was a "no" that broke down into an innocent sob as tears began streaming down his face once again, a familiar site the agent painfully couldn't stand to see. Morgan's eyes began to enlarge as an innocent frown formed on his handsome face.

Pressed for time, one of the EMT's decided it had to be done. Attempting sensitivity while obviously impatient, the paramedic suddenly moved in. "Hey buddy. Come with me." He then realized the boy wasn't budging. "Let go Agent," the paramedic said.

"He's holding onto me," observed Derek.

The 3 year old's protest did not falter even through his grief-stricken sobs. "No…" he uttered, a little louder this time, as the paramedic continued trying to pry him away from his protector. Caught in the middle, Morgan wasn't sure if he should help the paramedic out or not.

The struggle ensued as another EMT attempted to calm the boy down. "It's OK, we're not gonna hurt you."

"NO!" A clear sign of insubordination from a child whose attitude changed from emotional, to emotionally enraged. It didn't matter. The EMT's were through fooling around, and almost had him in their grasp.

Morgan couldn't help but continue trying to prod Michael into letting them do what they needed to do for his well being. "Michael, you're gonna be alright."

Totally arrested and under their control, the EMT's put the kicking and screaming toddler down on the bed as he continued the battle while they fought to get him strapped down. "Nooooo! Nooooo! Nooooo!" The tears were back, as he devolved into another screaming fit, totally breaking down at this point.

The situation became hard for Derek to watch as he started getting a little on edge. "Hey…..guys, GUYS!" An EMT grabbed the three year old's arm a little harshly, which got under Morgan's skin. "Easy! TAKE IT EASY!" he bellowed.

"We've got it agent!"

"Be careful with him!"

It was the entertainment of the hospital lobby as all eyes became fixed on the situation. Finally managing to secure the boy down – who was sobbing violently at this point – they managed to finally wheel the gernie to the back as a hint of rage swelled up in the center of Derek's chest. He started seething a bit before a familiar voice broke into his thoughts.

"Morgan…..Morgan!"

"WHAT?" the agent shouted uncontrollably, turning around.

Jason Gideon maundered in beside Aaron Hotchner, Gideon looking somewhat troubled after catching the tail end of the combustible situation. "Is he alright?" he asked, a bit concerned. The look on Hotchner's face conveyed very little concern, but it was common for the naturally stoic agent.

Derek put his hands on top of his head and began walking towards a wall, away from his two superiors. "It's out of my hands," he sighed frustratingly.

He pressed his sweat laden forehead against the cold hard white surface. "What did you find at the scene?" he questioned while closing his eyes.

"A whole lot of blood," responded Hotchner, blankly with his arms folded.

Morgan's head spun around as his eyes widened slightly. "More victims?"

"The blood was the unsub's" the Unit Chief shot back, facial expression keeping its signature stoic poise.

Morgan knew what they were getting at as he became ponderingly silent for a few seconds before responding. "Look, I know I got a little testy."

Aaron Hotchner was quick to retort. "Testy is 5 shots, maybe 6. 13 borders on vengeful homicide."

"So I'm taking a fall for this?"

"The bureau hasn't gotten a hold of the case yet. However, when they do, your competence and emotional state could be in question following this blood bath, and Strauss is going to have a few choice words for me as well…"

Morgan's facial expression turned offended as he slowly approached his boss. "Hotch, I did what I had to do to protect that child."

"You did a lot more than that, and I can't say I'd be in disagreeance with their assessment." His Nokia 8210 suddenly started going off in his blazer pocket, cutting off the tail end of his sentence. "Excuse me," he observed, pulling it out and placing it to his ear as he briskly walked away from his two colleagues.

There was a period of vocal inactivity as Morgan continued brooding silently. "Steven's with CJ," informed Gideon, breaking the tension.

"Are they on their way here to the hospital?"

"They should be. Our work there was done, so we handed supervision of the crime scene over to Chief Graysborough so we could come check on you."

Morgan didn't look at Gideon, although acknowledging his words. "I'm fine," he replied glumly.

"You sure about that?" Gideon's eyes were solemnly fixed on the young agent's sullen face. Morgan's attitude did all the talking for him. He was obviously miffed, bothered, and contemplative.

"Not if Hotch walks back over here," he muttered sarcastically.

"He's not a big fan of what you did."

Morgan finally looked at the veteran agent, slowly approaching him. "Gideon, from day one, when we started this case, I said those kids would be in danger. We said he would go after the wife. The son of a bitch mutilated her before we even got there. Michael and Steven were his next targets. If I hadn't of made a move, what would have happened?"

"Disregarding protocol is what can get an agent killed."

"With all due respect, my life means nothing if I can't use it to protect others. That 3 year old had no possible way of defending himself…"

"I get it. Believe me, I do. But you're gonna have to explain your actions to the bureau, and hope they don't think you're incapable of handling this job."

"Of course I can handle the job, Gideon."

"You're young, intelligent, passionate, and you show a lot of potential. You have to prove yourself to the FBI Brass that you belong in this unit, and blowing away an unsub isn't going to shine you in a good light."

Hotch returned to the scene, suddenly interrupting the dialogue between the two agents. "That was Graysborough, they found a second body in the woods behind the house."

Morgan's heartbeat accelerated a bit. "Same unsub?"

Hotch didn't hold back. "Based on the age of the victim, they think it could be a third foster child."

A not started to form in the pit of Morgan's stomach as he could suddenly feel his blood boil. "SON OF A BITCH!" he roared, slamming the side of his fist onto the concrete hospital wall, causing the majority of the people in the lobby to once again look in his direction.

"We couldn't save all of them, it's to be expected."

Morgan turned around, walking back towards his boss. "How can you just stand there and say that with that tone of voice, man?"

"Morgan, this is the job. We have to be able to handle circumstances like this."

Brushing off Hotch, Morgan glanced over at Gideon, whose hawkish stare remained in tact. "Blowing away an unsub?" Questioned Morgan to Gideon. "I should have gutted that sick bastard like a fish!"

"We did all we could," responded Hotch, flatly.

Their conversation was now at an end as a familiar individual strolled up, walking side by side with a teenager about 16 years of age. The boy had pale white skin, and his face was a dim red as if he had been straining. His demeanor conveyed a combination of worry and sorrow.

Noticing who it was, Morgan walked in their direction. "Hey Steven, you okay?"

Completely blowing off the question, the teenager worriedly glanced around the lobby. "Where's my brother?"

Morgan's eyes remained fixed on the kid's face. "He's in the back with the doctor. He's gonna be fine," the agent calmingly reassured.

"You're Derek right?"

Morgan sympathetically nodded.

"I heard screams coming from the garage, and Mom was home. Then Charles came charging in from the back with a wild look in his eye, and told us to stay put, not to move. He went back outside with a machete, and I could hear…." He paused for a moment, trying to maintain his composure as emotion attempted to consume him. "I could hear the sound of it hitting flesh. I didn't know what was going on…but I knew something had happened to mom."

"It's okay," Reassured Morgan, his hand smoothing across Steven's back.

"He was coming back from the garage, and something told me to grab Michael and try to get out of the house, because Charles was going to do something to us. I mean, he always did something horrible to us, but I had a feeling he had worse things in mind."

Steven paused suddenly, fighting off more emotion as he continued to tell his story. Morgan continued to comfort the teenager as his colleagues all stood by, listening intently, keeping their own feelings of emotion hidden inside of them in an attempt to maintain their necessary bravado.

"I didn't have time..." the teenager continued. "He had a gun in his hand, and he aimed it at me. I ducked, and his shot missed, and he had to reload. All I could do was run…" This time they could all see tears starting to well up in his eyes. "I felt like such a coward. I left my little brother in there at his mercy, and I could hear him crying as I left out the front door." Steven sniffed and inhaled deeply, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, realizing his emotions were winning this game of tug a war.

"It's okay," Morgan repeated in his signature comforting soft tone.

"Michael and I have been through so much together. He's my little brother." His composure waning, Steven could barely get his next sentence choked out. "God, I left my little brother in there to die."

"Steven, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You did what you had to do to survive, and there was nothing you could have done to help Michael if you would have been killed. You ran for help, which is the best thing you could have done, man. Because of you, Michael survived."

"You saved his life, not me."

"But you made the call." Morgan placed his hand on the young man's shoulder and massaged it firmly for a few seconds, before their dialogue was suddenly interrupted.

"Agent Morgan?"

The eyes of everyone in the group immediately traveled in one direction as a doctor stood there in full fledged scrub regalia, clipboard in hand, prepared to give whatever news he had to offer. Derek slowly approached the physician, nodding as if giving him permission to speak.

"Michael has suffered some internal bruising on his femur, fibula, patella, and he has a mildly sprained coccyx. He's dehydrated and showing signs of malnutrition, which explains his relapsing lethargic state. We're going to be keeping him overnight and we're going to have a psychotherapist down for observation, as we're thinking he may also have a stress or panic disorder."

"Can we see him?" pleaded an optimistic Steven.

"We're only allowing two back at a time," decreed the doctor.

CJ decided this was the time for an opportunity to speak to her counterpart. "Uhh, Steven, why don't you go ahead, and Agent Morgan will meet you there, okay?"

"Thanks Agent McClure." Steven made his way past the physician, who smiled and nodded at the two remaining agents before following the teenager to the back.

Morgan sensed what the conversation would be about before any subject was even broached. "CJ..."

"Listen, I know this whole situation has got to be eating you alive. Believe me, you don't know how hard it was to not crack while listening to Steven talk. I just wanted to check in and make sure everything's alright upstairs."

"I'm fine."

"Why am I getting the impression this isn't the first time you've said that without validity?"

"CJ…I really am fine. I know I got a little carried away back there, but I'm only thinking about this kid right now."

"Derek, you know none of this is on you," reassured the female agent sensitively.

"He's become attached to me for a reason."

"Yeah, you saved his life and protected him. It's a natural thing with some kids."

"That makes me feel responsible. I need to look out for him and make sure he's alright."

"You've already done that, and now it's time to back off."

He cut her off. "CJ…"

She returned the favor. "If you don't, it's only going to strengthen this unhealthy attachment."

"But you just said it was natural."

"So is mercury, but do you want it in your Cheerios?"

Her somewhat disguised quip didn't get the reaction she had desired as her colleague was still very much in thought. After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. "Look. Go back there and see how he's doing, but find a way to break this thing off before you put your career in further jeopardy. When you get back to Quantico, talk to Hotch and get a feel of where your standing is. I've got your back on this. I know Gideon does, and Hotch should too. We're a team, and we've gotta look out for each other."

"CJ, what's going to happen to him?" Morgan's worry over Michael was his main focus and he couldn't control it.

His female counterpart decided to give him a heavy dose of reality. "That's no longer your problem. Our work here is done."

Morgan didn't say anything, but he felt the coldness of her words. As true as they were, that wasn't what he wanted to hear. He decided for the sake of civility to veer off the subject. "You gonna wait out here?" he questioned casually, briefly putting aside his continuous feelings of contempt for the situation.

"Do you want me to?" she replied, suggestively.

"Hotch and Gideon still here?"

"Yeah. They were thinking about heading back to the BAU."

Morgan had something else in mind. "Leave the Tahoe and ride back with them. I need some time alone."

A puzzled look formed on CJ's face. "You sure?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, princess, see you when I get back." His words came without that upside down frown that usually accompanied his banter. CJ was quick to pick up on the unusualness of the situation as she took a step towards him and proceeded to brush something off the center of his form fitting white v-neck T-shirt.

"See that, even an undeniably gorgeous man like you realizes when mama is right," she winked, brushing her palm down across both sides of his chest. A smirk suddenly appeared on Morgan's face that caught her attention. There it was. She got him that time.

"See that, I knew I could get you to smile," she observed, taking a step back from the muscular agent.

"Goodbye Clarissa Joe," he quipped.

"Love youuuuuu," she replied, smiling up at him.

Morgan motioned for a hug, as the female agent complied and slipped into his affectionate embrace. He then planted a warm kiss on the tip of her forehead as he often did when they had light moments like this. Still very much aware of their stature as colleagues, they were closer than some realized, but not in a romantic sense. That's why although he disagreed with her, he'd keep it to himself. But he knew she was right, but at the same time, felt she was wrong. His thoughts immediately went back to Michael as they continued to hug for a few more seconds, before she slipped away indicating she was headed out with Hotch and Gideon. On the outside, it looked as if he understood her. On the inside, it was a whole different story.

He watched her walk away for a few seconds before turning around and heading through the double doors leading to the area of the hospital where the patients temporarily resided while being treated. He strolled down a hallway, rooms to his right, rooms to his left. He was so lost in thought that he didn't think to ask which room they put Michael in. Stumbling across his answer, he stopped and peered inside of Room 128, as the teenager's green sweatshirt immediately caught his attention. He slipped in behind Steven, who hadn't noticed him till he felt that comforting hand back on his shoulder. Feeling it but not acknowledging it, Steven kept his eyes fixed on the heartrending sight as Morgan paused and stood beside him.

There lay the 3 year old abuse victim, completely unconscious with an IV sticking out of his little motionless arm. This was a far contrast from the last sight Morgan had of the little boy, fighting and crying ferociously as the doctors were trying to detain him. Derek's eyes grew large and heavy, sadness weighing them down. This was not where a child was supposed to be. A child was supposed to be running around, smiling, laughing, playing happily. Michael had already been robbed of his childhood, the odds seeming to say that he had a slim chance of ever getting it back; getting back what was rightfully his. The more Derek thought about it, the sicker and angrier he became.

"What's going to happen to us?" questioned Steven, uncertain.

"I don't know." Morgan's voice was soft, yet he didn't even glance at the boy although his hand still rested firmly on his shoulder.

"Are they going to put us with another family?"

"With situations like this, they usually split kids up." Derek didn't even think before the words spilled out of his mouth.

Steven immediately panicked. "What? No! Michael! Michael!"

Morgan suddenly swooped in to try and calm the young man down, grabbing him somewhat forcefully around the shoulders, the agent's arms too powerful to fight out of. "Steven…Steven….Steven!" He continued to shout his name more worriedly than angrily. He couldn't be angry. He understood the emotions behind the frightening scenario.

"THEY CAN'T SPLIT US UP!" cried Steven as his actions ceased. He dropped to his knees, still in Morgan's firm grip, and began to sob uncontrollably. Morgan's clench went from forceful to comforting in a second, as he realized the full sensitive nature of the situation. Those kids had been beaten and tortured for years. There was nothing that said it wouldn't happen again and they had hung on with each other; they were there for each other, no matter what. To suddenly lose that bond was indeed a horrific situation, but a painful reality. Not if he could help it. Not on his watch.

"Steven, listen to me," he said in a comforting tone near the youngster's ear. "I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure this comes out right. I promise you."

Startled by the commotion, the physician ran back into the room. "Is everything alright in here?"

Morgan nodded as the scene spoke for itself. The doctor then quietly left the room as Steven's crying continued, all the emotions that had been pent up all this time seeping out like a broken faucet. "You guys have been through hell, you hear me? I'm not about to let any of this have a chance to repeat itself. I'm going to make sure you're both put into good homes, and make sure that you won't be split up. Everything's gonna be okay, I promise."

Promises are meant to be kept, aren't they? Will an un-kept promise only increase the pain to possibly unbearable levels? Morgan was caught in the bull pit. On one hand, there was CJ, Hotch, Strauss, and his career. On the other, the heart wrenching agony his spirit told him it was an injustice to simply flee from. He never once considered himself a hero, but he couldn't consider himself a human being either to just walk away, giving fate another chance at the upper hand. Is that what he would want for himself? What kind of precedent would this set for his future as a father when his time came?

Is it always the right thing to follow the majority opinion, or is it the right thing to follow your heart? He truly didn't know what to do. He had been dragged in way over his head, and he would be lying if he didn't at least admit to himself that it frightened him, deeply.

He decided to do the only thing he could do. Take things one step at a time.


	4. The Beast of Conflict

**Disclaimer: **_The following content contains harsh language to show the nature of the characters. This ties into the second chapter, as the first and third are past chapters and this one is another present chapter that continues on after chapter 2, keeping on with the whole Redux theme._

_I had to edit and re-upload this chapter due to me being heavily sleepy last night while writing this. The grammatical errors were so many that I just could NOT ignore it and had to do something about it as I don't want people to think I'm that careless a writer. It's already bad enough that I'm an uncontrollable comma splicer. Lol. _

_Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter, as well as the ones for the previous copy of this one, and I'm glad it didn't take quite that long to get this chapter up. Haha! Let me know how I did, and tell your friends about this story! I appreciate all the feedback, and you guys are awesome! =D _

**CHAPTER 4 – The Beast of Conflict**

Crickets chirping, the sound of grass crunching beneath feet moving too quick to remain constantly beside one another. Her shoes are caught in an indefinite game of peek-a-boo while her eyes and the scenery were also partaking in said game.

She glances back as she keeps her pace. Nothing there, nothing beyond bushes and all which was green. Her heart begins to race, blood still spurting from her injured nose. She was too terrified to let the pain take her over. Her life was at stake, which took precedence over the pain. She didn't know how much longer this game of cat and mouse would last. He was gonna find her. That's what the frightened pessimist inside her reiterated. That was the daunting reality she couldn't shake loose from her mind.

She got as far as she could before sudden sharp stabbing sensations overtook her, shooting through her abdomen, instantly dropping her to her knees in shear agony and fear. It was time, God, it was time. Not now. Not like this.

She broke down into tears realizing her dreary fate. There was no way she could go on, and the inevitable was about to happen. No good could possibly come of this.

She sensed a presence and looked behind her, seeing the shadowy silhouette of an ominous figure sauntering her way. It was him. Her attacker was just moments away from finishing the job he started. There was nothing she could do. She was doomed, and so was the life form that was preparing to slip from its temporary dwelling after the 9 months it was allotted.

She had wished this moment could have been different. She couldn't help but feel it was all her fault for the pain and suffering she had caused her former significant other; the man who could have been there to protect her and comfort her at this hour; the man who could have been the one to provide her with another outcome; a safer, more heartwarming outcome.

She became possessed by sorrow and doom. She was preparing herself for defeat as her attacker got closer and closer, taking his sweet time once he noticed she was out of steam.

She lay in the grass with her back flat, hoping she could try and play dead. That theory became an impossible mission as more pains began shooting through her, causing her to scream out like a wild banshee.

The silhouette finally gained color as it passed through the darkness, into the illumination of the pale orange streetlight shining on his face. His visage was the personification of every evil intention an individual could conjure up as he slowly stalked his prey, his eyes narrowed in sadistic glee, his lips arched upward with a noticeable scar on his left cheek. His cleanly white teeth peered out of his grin, showing slight hints of salivation.

"Well, well, well, looks like time just ran out for you," he quipped with that distinguishably eerie voice that made your skin crawl the moment its piercing sound invaded your mundane sense of hearing.

She continued sobbing as she maintained her defeated poise, sprawled out on the grass, those sharp pains assaulting from all angles. Her attacker suddenly knelt down, removing the butcher knife from his back pocket. The very sight of the shiny sharp blade caused her sobbing to intensify as she had no choice but to brace herself for what she knew was coming her way.

The assailant took the knife and smoothed the side of the blade across her protruding stomach. "Looks like our little guy's getting impatient over having to stay in there, isn't he?"

"If you're gonna kill me, you kill him too," she snarled, attempting to arrest her sobbing, putting on that valiant bravado that was becoming more and more authentic. If this was her time, she figured she might as well get through those final moments and embrace it.

"What?" her attacker questioned, somewhat taken aback.

"You heard me you son of a bitch!"

He shook his head. "I would have taken you to be a better mother than that."

"What kind of mother would I be if I gave birth to my child, only for him to fall into the hands of a sick bastard like you?"

That eerie smile parsed his lips. "A mother without a whole lot of options, baby." He then knelt down and planted a soft kiss on her forehead as she closed her eyes, flinching in disgust. "I promise you though," he began while caressing her innocent face, "your son's gonna grow up to be the same kind of 'honorable man' his father is. Taking lives will be his game."

"If his father were here, he'd blow you off the face of the earth, with the fury of God's own thunder."

A soft cackle disrupted their dialogue. "Sweetheart, here's a bit of reality for you. God _himself_ can't stop me. I've been through so much hell and torment, and agony over the past few months…" His face suddenly grew serious, "…even God had better stay the fuck out of my way, because I'm done fucking around." He then began waving the blade around in her face. "Your little boyfriend, didn't know who he was fucking with when he decided to stick his nose in my business."

"You're a notorious psychopath! Your business WAS his business. Justice was his business!"

"Justice? That mere illusion of society that rarely matches reality. A realist like me wines and dines on the moment, no matter what the cost, no matter what the expense. If the expense befalls me, I make sure I get payback. That brings us to this moment, as I look into your beautiful hazel eyes, sweat dripping from your trembling forehead; you trying your best not to reveal your true state of mind…that you're absolutely terrified right now. That's the moment. That is _this_ moment, and in _this_ moment, _I_ get to be God. Can't beat that right?"

A short pause before that menacing look once again materialized on his face, mood swings appearing to be the norm for him. "You wanna talk about justice? Huh? You hear me, you fucking whore! You wanna talk about fucking justice?" Another scream forced itself out of her as his tirade seemed to have caused more pain to return to her abdominal area. "Where was MY justice?" he roared. "Where was Tyler's justice? Huh? Everybody is so fucking self-righteous, doing whatever the fuck they want to do, because they think it's justified. But when their sins comes back to greet them, guys like me, oh, we need to answer to justice. We need to be brought to justice?"

"Well, that goes both ways, don't it? I said I was God, right? I'm going to find your little boyfriend. And when I do, He shall repent. He shall fall before my feet, screaming my name, begging for mercy, begging me to make the pain stop; to make all the agony and torment I pay him back with, stop….You listening to me bitch?"

His words went virtually unacknowledged as she slowly started to fade from consciousness. "Hey! Wake the fuck up, I'm not finished with you yet!" the man roared as he knelt back down and proceeded to shake her.

"Bitch, I said wake up!"

"Wake up!"

"Wake up!"

"Shawn, wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Ay Dios Mio, wake up!"

"Huh, what…wha…wha…wha…wha?" Shawn's head once again shot off his desk, revealing another cold sweat on his forehead. This time, he was fully aware of his surroundings. "What's up?" He asked, trying to play off his interrupted napping. Sergio gawked at him in disbelief as Shawn's hands instinctively went for his eyes, attempting to rub them back to life.

"Jeez, are you narcoleptic or something? You've been doing this all day, man. At lunch I had to tie a handkerchief around your neck and fish you out of your soup!"

Shawn's reply was forced through a yawn. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"What'd you do, throw a wild party with hookers or something? And you couldn't invite me?" Sergio was smiling; Shawn was not as he searched for the clock to see how much time he had wasted in _this_ class.

"What time is it?"

"Almost time for the last bell," answered Sergio, slipping his worksheet into his folder.

"What day is it?"

Sergio stopped what he was doing, turning around to gawk confusedly at his best friend sitting behind him. "You serious?"

"Are we in March or April?" Shawn's voice had gained quite a bit of aggravated base, catching Sergio off guard.

"What?" Sergio still didn't know what Shawn was talking about.

"This is 2011, right?"

"Dude, this is September…2010…are you sure you're okay?"

Shawn winced as a headache began to set in. "Why does this feel like the new year already?"

"At the rate you're going, vato, you'll have slept way into the new year."

"Mr. Reece?"

"WHAT?" At that moment, Shawn didn't care that it was actually his teacher who had called his name this time, his reaction uncontrollably carrying the full weight of his coarse mood.

Mrs. Anderson was hesitant for a split second, caught off guard by the miffed reaction. "Well, somebody's cranky today," she quipped with a mixture of light-heartedness and offence.

"I just woke him up from his nap," began Sergio. "The same thing happens with my mom." Shawn flashed Sergio a disgruntled look.

"Mr. Reece, do you have the handout I passed around?"

"I think so," replied Shawn, still eying Sergio, both eyes filled with disdain.

"It's for tomorrow's speaker assessment."

"Speaker assessment?" asked Sergio, still entranced in Shawn's melancholy glare.

"Yes, we have guest speakers coming in; agents from the FBI's behavioral Analysis Unit."

"In Quantico?" asked a random student.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Anderson. "Agents David Rossi and Aaron Hotchner."

"FBI," began another student, "that sounds all interesting and stuff, but all they're gonna be doing is talking?"

Mrs. Anderson glanced at the ceiling with a smirk, knowing full well where this conversation had the potential of going. "Yes, Candice," she replied, maintaining her glance.

"For an entire hour?" replied the Hispanic brunette.

"Possibly." Said Mrs. Anderson, eyes on her questioning pupil.

"Are they at least good looking?"

"Oh..que la," interjected Sergio in Spanish, with a soft uncontrollable sigh. He face-palmed hard in embarrassment, although her response really didn't surprise him all that much. Typical Candice to be looking for somebody to fulfill her eye candy needs.

The teacher almost had nothing to say in return, somewhat caught off guard by the random question. "Well… ye… uhh… ye... uhhh… I happen to think so…"

"No," retorted Candice, quickly cutting her off. Mrs. Anderson shot Candice a wide eyed look while smiling at the same time. How did she know what kind of taste her teacher had? Was she judging by her age?

"Orale, Candy, it's not like that Tyler Lutner kid, that's all over your room, is workin for the FBI."

Candice looked over at Sergio, fully prepared to correct him. "First of all, it's _Taylor Lautner_, and second of all I wouldn't mind if he was the one comin to our class. Mmmmmm." She licked her lips and sat back in the desk, placing her arms behind the back of her head.

Sergio flashed a disappointed look. "This is supposed to be for educational purposes, not an hour of stare and drool, cochina, you horndog!"

"Can we listen to our ipods if we're quiet?" Candice quickly moved from one conversation to another, shooting an innocent smile at the teacher, hoping she'd relent.

A smirk formed on the elder teacher's face. "Well of course," she taunted. "And then you can go teepee the inside of my car after class."

"Really?" asked Candice and Sergio simultaneously.

"Sure…if you wanna get written up..."

"Meanie…" replied Candice with a defeated look on her face as she eased back in her chair, arms folded like a third grader pouting over having to be stuck inside for recess.

"Candice, it shouldn't be that hard to pay attention to something that's not 6 feet tall whose 'butt looks so cute in those jeans.' " Sergio made the latter part of his comment sound as feminine and high school-girl-ish as he possibly could, throwing both hands in the air in a womanly fashion.

Candice couldn't help but smirk at his goofy behavior. "You do that a little too well," she joked.

"I learn by example," retorted Sergio, implying all the instances where he had seen her act in such a manner.

"I can't help it if I spy it and can't deny it." Sergio rolled his eyes as Candice shut hers and rolled her head from side to side with a grin forced through her puckered lips. All of this back and forth bantering became unnoticed by Mrs. Anderson who's attention appeared to be focused on Shawn. A few previous quick glances had sent messages that something was definitely off with her usually focused student.

"Mr. Reece, you're not looking too well," she observed as Shawn's head rested on his forefingers gently easing back and forth.

"I'm fine," he protested, dryly.

"You sure? Would you like to go to the nurse's office and lie down?"

"I'd like for the end of this day to come."

"Easy holmes," interjected Sergio, "the bell's gonna ring in about 15 minutes."

"Day, not school day, Einstein." Shawn's response was cold. It was becoming more and more apparent his mood was not a very good one. Sergio decided not to say anything back as Candice and Mrs. Anderson shot quick worried glances at him. The teacher then decided to just go back to her lecture and leave him be.

"Okay, so as I was saying earlier, Agents Hotchner and Rossi will be speaking to our class tomorrow…." Her voice suddenly tailed off as Sergio decided to turn back around to maybe attempt some sort of explanation regarding his best friend's discontented behavior.

"You sure you're okay?"

Shawn waited a bit before responding. He closed his eyes as his voice crept out. "Keep asking questions and you won't be." He then peered directly into Sergio's eyes as he grimly uttered those words, which somewhat frightened Sergio a bit, although he would never admit to it. Something wasn't right here, but he didn't want to continue to anger his friend when all he really wanted to know was why he was so hostile today.

The bell suddenly rang causing everyone in the classroom to quickly disperse like a gunshot had just rang out. Shawn, Sergio, and Candice were the last to leave, Mrs. Anderson wiping down her white board as they were heading out. Sergio went to put his hand on Shawn's shoulder, but his friend responded by coldly jerking it off. Candice shot a disturbed glance in their direction. Sergio's eyes narrowed in shock. Shawn slipped his backpack on and moodily disappeared from the maple door frame, Sergio and Candice gawking at each other with uneasiness.

The brooding teenager made his way down the emptying long narrow hallway filled with desolate lockers and only a handful of the those typical students who couldn't get theirs open for the life of them. Making it through the entrance way, he quickly descended down the lengthy ramp to the awaiting line of busses, knowing as always he would not be getting on one of them.

As usual he was in no hurry to get home, wanting to prolong it any way he could. He did this by taking a longer route than the usual 5 or 6 blocks it took for him to get from the building to his front door, and vice versa.

He sauntered out into the parking lot and slowly made his way across it, into a small shopping plaza. He stopped and turned around, the Deltmore high school sign still in plain sight. He stared at it for a few more moments, before turning around and making his way down an alley. He felt one foot trip over the other, and sighed as he knew exactly why.

"Just my luck," he stressed, noticing his shoe was untied. Bending over to correct the problem, he decided to remove the straps of his backpack and set it down beside him. Just as he was tightening the knot over the loops, he sensed something out of the corner of his eye. It was within seconds of that feeling that a figure dashed by, swooping up his belongings without a moment's notice.

"HEY!" Shawn cried out, noticing a slim form dashing out in front of him. Instinctively, he began chasing after the guy, both running through street after street, becoming entangled in the various alleyways. Shawn continued on the chase until he came to the realization that the figure had seemingly vanished. He stopped suddenly, looking around in bewilderment. Feeling out of breath, he was forced to double over to try and catch it.

When a whisper suddenly pierced the silence, Shawn bolted upright, spinning around and coming face to face with the thief himself.

Cooper Pierson. Everyone's typical jock menace to society that existed in every average student's world, whether they liked to acknowledge it or not. There he was, standing there with the backpack in hand, that condescending smile possessing his face.

"Does this belong to you?" he taunted, raising his brows, pretending like he had just stumbled upon a lost item, wondering whose property it was.

Shawn was too heated to be phased by the obvious ploy. "No, dumbshit," he responded. "I just chased you all this way for nothing."

Taken aback a bit, Cooper eased his way towards his prey. "What did you just call me?"

Shawn didn't hold back. "Not just dumb, but deaf, I can tell. For future reference, I don't repeat myself."

Cooper beamed. "Looks like I've got a little smartass on my hands."

Shawn laughed it off. "Little? We're the same age _bro_."

"I'm not your _bro_," Coop said with that taunting smirk.

"Coop, I'm not in the mood, so why don't you just hand over my shit, and hit the bricks."

"Not in the mood? And what are you gonna do?"

"Just as soon as I catch my breath, you may find out."

"Yeah, well, while you're 'catching your breath,' I'd like you to meet some friends of mine."

Shawn suddenly had an idea where this was going. With all the books he had read, and all of the other kids he had seen go through similar circumstances, he knew it wouldn't be a good idea to turn around. That didn't stop him from doing it however, and to his prediction, a group of 3 more kids his age were starting to emerge from the alleyways behind them. Shawn came to the realization of his potential fate; however, it still didn't change his mindset.

"Still feel like talking shit, _Reece_?"

Shawn's turned back around to face his nemesis. "Sure I do," he responded uninterested. "Give me my fucking bag, _Pierson." _

"Show a little respect to your athletes, _fool_."

Shawn didn't even care to glance back to see who had just said that. "Get off his dick and mind your own business, alright." he retorted blindly. "This is an A-B conversation and I do believe you know the rest."

"You talk a lot of shit for somebody who knows they're outnumbered right now."

"How about I don't care, alright? You guys wanna go ahead with your pussy ass plan and beat me down in this alley, go right ahead. I'm not afraid of the odds. I want my property, and I'm not backing down until I get it."

Cooper played it off. "Well, maybe you should start watching where you set stuff down."

"You watch me leave the building, and come all the way down here to try and pick me off, as if I'm some threat to you. I bet you don't even have a reason, do you, other than that you're a punk ass bitch with too much time on your hands."

The jock pretended to be offended. "Ouch," he said, placing his hand on his chest, trying not to smile.

"What's the matter? You still hurting over the cheerleader incident?" Cooper's smile suddenly faded. "Yeaaah, didn't think I heard about that did you? Boy, she sure fucked you up good, didn't she? You must be having all kinds of self-esteem issues. I mean, how many guys who think they're on top of the world can deal with getting kicked in the nuts and maced in the face by a girl they thought would be an easy score?"

Those words struck a nerve as the star football player didn't take too kindly to having his masculinity questioned. "Hey, shut the fuck up right now Reece. You think this is a game?"

"I think I've got my breath back," replied Shawn, realizing he was no longer huffing and puffing.

Cooper's eyes suddenly narrowed in shear scornful disdain "You won't have it for long," he coldly muttered.

With that, they all closed in on him. Reality finally sunk in that despite how fearless a visage he could put on, reality said he truly was outnumbered. Before he had time to think of a way to defend himself, he felt something force its way right up between his legs, the excruciating pain instantly dropping him to his knees in shear agony.

"Get him up," ordered Cooper, playing the part of the ringleader in this 4 on 1 assault. Each of the associates grabbed an arm as the third stood behind them, preparing to deliver another blow. After a quick running start, his leg elevated off the ground, striking Shawn once more, hard, in that sensitive area, the pain magnifying as it escaped through a gritted groan from the powerless teenager.

Cooper slowly inched his way closer to Shawn's face, the backpack still in hand. "You want this?" he taunted coldly. "You want this?" He reached into his pocket with the other hand, pulling out a small slim object. Shawn realized what it was as his heartbeat suddenly started to elevate uncontrollably. The small blade clicked out from its dormant dwelling inside the pocketknife, the bright sun reflecting off of the silver coat, causing it to gleam forebodingly. One of the associates used their hands to muzzle Shawn's mouth as Cooper held the bookbag inches away form the helpless boy's face. "You want this, you're gonna have to earn it."

In an instant, the bag hit the ground with a loud thud as Cooper moved in, making sure he had one hand for the blade, and the other free to aid it in the damage it was about to inflict on a helpless Shawn Reece.


	5. Conflicted

**Author's note:**_ This chapter was beta'd by Tom, AKA Defying Fate. Read and review. As always, lemme know what you guys think. ;)_

**Chapter 5 - Conflicted**

"Wow, you cheat!" Steven eased back in the straight back chair, mouth agaped in disbelief that thanks to the help of a certain someone, he had just lost a game of Connect Four to a 3 year old.

Derek flashed that award winning bright white smile as a taunt directed at the youngster. "Come on now, don't be a sore loser." He smoothed his fingers gently through the thick black hair belonging to the smiling toddler sitting on his lap.

Steven's eyes bugged out of his head. "Sore loser? You helped him!"

"Only a tiny bit," winked Morgan, continuing to taunt the 16 year old as Michael suddenly found interest in the elder man's hands being on his head. The small boy lifted up his arms and obliviously reached for Derek's hands as the teenager proceeded to clear the game board, ready for revenge.

Steven opened the bottom of the rack as the black and red circular game pieces clattered from their nesting place onto the hard brown surface of the round mahogany kitchen table they were all seated at. "Okay, you know what? Come on. Me and you." An intense, but playful look was plaguing Steven's face as he threw down the gauntlet to the 26 year old FBI Agent.

"Ooooooh," taunted CJ, folding her arms as she slightly leaned rearward, the wavy design of the wooden chair back meeting the hind of her form fitting black and white striped blouse.

Morgan was humorously taken aback at the youngster's bold words. "Whoah, whoah, whoah…"

CJ cut him off, smiling at how caught off guard he was. "Whoah whoah, nothing, Derek Morgan, I think he just issued a challenge."

Morgan grinned and lightly shook his head. "I don't think so," he muttered, taking a long sip of the half gone Hardees milkshake he had been working on at a quick pace.

"You're gonna back down in your own house?" cracked CJ.

"Yep," Morgan quickly shot back, placing the clear see through cup back on the table.

"What a wuss," taunted Steven, causing CJ to laugh, Michael suddenly doing the same. Morgan flashed a playfully offended look at the 3 year old sitting on his lap.

"You too?" joked the FBI agent, his teasing expression showing anything but seriousness. The high pitched giggling continued to which Morgan reacted by relentlessly attacking both sides of the toddler with his forefingers, the tickling causing the child to squirm all over the chair, laughing even harder as the soft sensations took him over. Morgan relented long enough to gently set the child back upright on his lap, delivering a tender kiss to his temple.

"He's gonna grow up to be just like you. A cheater!"

"You're gonna grow up to be a handsome little heartbreaker, aren'tcha?" CJ reached out her arm to squeeze Michael's delicate little cheek as he giggled once more, CJ warmly smiling back.

"Yeah, if he's not surgically attached to me before then." Morgan playfully put his arm around Michael's neck, leaving a big enough gap to where the boy could easily slip out of the loose hold, only for Morgan to entrap him once more.

"It's kinda weird that he likes you this much," observed Steven, lining up the game pieces according to color. "He's always been too afraid to trust people."

"I'm starting to find out he's afraid of a lot of things." Morgan went to put his arm around Michael's neck again, but this time the toddler dodged it, smiling at how clever he thought he was as Morgan kept attempting to 'get him' again.

"I take it you didn't sleep alone when that storm rolled through the other night?" Steven's indication was that he was speaking from experience as Michael's foster sibling, all the stormy nights he remembered them spending together while sharing a bedroom.

"Nope," responded Morgan, continuing his arm game with the 3 year old while also validating Steven's assumptions.

"I thought so. Michael hates storms."

CJ's phone suddenly started to go off. Nobody really paid any attention to the high pitched ringtone, as she started to dig in her pocket for the Nokia 7110. "You know what I hate worse than storms," she interjected.

"What's that," replied Derek.

"This damn phone." She slid the black button cover down and hit 'talk,' pressing the cold phone against her ear. "hello…" A wave of static greeted her on the other end, drowning out the voice of the individual, although she knew exactly who the caller was. "huh…hold on Gideon, I can barely hear you." 

"See if you can get a better reception in the other room," advised Morgan.

CJ laid the phone on her shoulder. "I haven't had this problem until today," she complained. "It's like something's interfering with the signal in this area." She then rose from her chair. "I'll be right back," she muttered, before walking into the living room, a wall separating her from the rest of the individuals in the house.

Steven looked at Morgan in confusion. "Gideon?"

"You remember Hotch and Gideon from the hospital," the FBI Agent answered, trying to stop Michael from putting one of the game pieces into his mouth. He lightly tapped the child on the back of the hand for attempting to pick up another piece. The 3 year old started to whimper, but Morgan quelled it with another tender kiss on the temple. "I don't want you to choke, kid," he softly explained, hoping the child would understand why he was suddenly being so resistant. Michael responded by leaning back against the agent, his thick raven hair brushing past Morgan's thinly trimmed goatee as the back of his head rested against the agent's chest, the side of his face coming into contact with the soft fabric of the white wife beater Morgan was wearing. 

"He's looking kinda sleepy there," observed Steven, tilting his head sideways while looking into the 3 year old's subtle features. Michael's clear brown skin appeared double tinted as the light split his face into two shades of tone. His teddy bear brown eyes glistened almost angelically as they started to grow heavier, and heavier, exhaustion starting to weigh them down. 

"He's had a long day, and one nap. I was just waiting for that first yawn." As soon as Morgan said that, Michael's mouth hinged opened as he squinted his eyes and inhaled deeply, then exhaled, his lacrimal glands producing just enough liquid for a small stream to carelessly seep from his eye down his cheek. "And there it is," smirked Morgan, wiping the tear stream away with his thumb.

"I still can't get over how comfortable he is with you. I don't see how he could ever trust any adult again after what we've been through, much less an adult male."

"He knows I'm not the one who hurt you guys," Morgan explained, "and that I never would. He may have realized that after he saw me take down the suspect, and I told him he was safe."

"CJ said you shot Charles 13 times."

Morgan paused momentarily before smirking at the thought of Steven intently bringing up the action he had wrestled with all week. "CJ's right," he uttered, not feeling an ounce of remorse for that action.

"Daaamn," sighed the teenager. "It's too bad I didn't get a chance to see that."

"Kid, trust me, that's not something you wanna see."

"The hell it's not!" roared Steven, becoming suddenly offended as Morgan's eyes grew wide at the sudden outburst. "That bastard starved us, beat us, burnt me with an iron, burnt Michael's hand on the stove, tried to drown us both in the bathtub at least twice….the things he did were outrageous!"

"Steven…" Morgan tried to calmly interrupt, but Steven showed no signs of slowing down.

"As far as I'm concerned, you did the entire world a favor by offing that sorry son of a…"

"Steven," began Morgan again, preventing more profanity from the flustered teenager, "What Charles did to you guys was wrong, we know that. The important thing is that you two survived and have a chance…"

"…a chance at a better life?" picked up Steven, mockingly. "Are you kidding me? Do you know how many times I've heard that before? I'm 16 years old. I've been in the system since I was 9 when my parents were murdered during a grocery store holdup. I have no family, and no idea what's to come next, except that it can't be anything good. It never is."

"Steven…"

"I have YET to be shown any indication that I have a chance for a good life, and my life has been nothing but HELL!"

"Steven...I'm sorry…"

"Everybody's always sorry."

"No, listen to me. It may sound like something people just say, but I truly am sorry. I…"

"Sorry's not going to fix anything!"

Morgan waited a moment before continuing the conversation. "You said you were 9 years old when you lost your parents?"

"Yeah," replied Steven, still flustered.

"I was around that age when I saw my father shot and killed right in front of me."

Steven became silent, his attitude easing off a little bit as the thought sunk into his head. "Oh," he muttered, as if caught off guard.

"Yeah," uttered Morgan, softly, nodding his head.

Steven started to feel somewhat sympathetic. "I'm…" he began, without even realizing.

"Sorry?" finished the FBI Agent, smiling a bit.

Steven returned the smile. "Okay, we're even," he lightly joked.

"Look," began Morgan. "I've never been homeless and thankfully never have had to go through what you guys have gone through, but my life wasn't all that easy either."

"You had your mom, didn't you? How was life not easy for you?"

"Oh, in lots of ways. I got into trouble with the law, I got in fights, I was arrested – I was even s…" Morgan abruptly canceled the flow of that thought, not prepared to finish what he was about to say. Realizing what had almost come next, he started to also realize how that flow came without logic or preparation. He had almost revealed something to Steven that nobody, including even his own family even knew about, something he felt he had to keep to himself out of shear embarrassment and humiliation.

"Was what?" queried Steven, the look on Derek's face peaking his interest as to why the agent had suddenly stopped so short.

Morgan was a bit hesitant; Steven's intensified senses picking up on it. "I just had a lot of problems..."

"What were you about to say?" questioned Steven, stepping on the tail end of Morgan's statement.

"That's not important…"

"Agent Morgan," began the teenager, again speaking before Morgan's full sentence was out. "What were you about to say?"

"Steven…" began the agent, looking for a sensitive way to get the kid to back off.

"DAMMIT!"

Both of them turned their head in the direction of the outburst they heard from the other room, realizing CJ sounded to be having difficulty with something. Morgan began moving the sleepy toddler from his lap and stood up, draping him over his shoulder, temporarily, before setting him back down on the chair. "I'll be right back," he uttered, making sure Michael was situated safely on the seat as the decreasingly alert child stared straight ahead at Steven, looking somewhat zombified. Derek stopped to look at Michael for a second before walking in the direction of the living room.

"Hopefully with what you're obviously avoiding to tell me," quipped Steven with half a suspicious smile.

"Watch little man for me," instructed Morgan, indicating he was talking about a half-awake Michael, completely ignoring Steven's plea for him to spill an obvious secret he was keeping. Steven rose from his chair and walked over to the front of Michael's seat where he kneeled down, looking into the toddler's drooped weary face.

"What's up?" questioned Morgan, entering the living room where CJ stood in the foyer, putting her cell phone to her ear before looking down at it, an action which she repeated quite a few times as it appeared something was wrong.

"Okay, I told you my phone's been acting weird since we got here. Well, I was in the middle of a conversation with Gideon about a breaking development in the case, and the signal just dropped, and I can't get it back."

"Breaking development?" questioned Morgan, innocently.

"There's been another murder."

Morgan's brows tightened. "Related to this case?"

"Yeah," replied CJ, somewhat nervously.

"How do you know?"

"Gideon told me that one of the temps brought in a package dropped off in front of the main doors." 

"Package?"

"In it, was a note…" she paused, hesitant to deliver the rest of the news.

"What about the note…" fished Morgan.

"Derek, the note was attached to a severed ear."

Morgan's eyes widened, as his nose scrunched in disgust, his top lip arching up. "What was on the note?"

"The location of the rest of the body, and a message that said "I'll see him soon."

Morgan eyes left her face and traveled off into the peripheral distance. "Cryptic taunt," he observed. His eyes traveled back to her face. "Cameras pick up who left the box?"

"The footage is being reviewed as we speak, but chances are the unsub was disguised."

"I thought Charles Bradley was our unsub."

"Well, you killed Bradley and yet people are still turning up dead and now we're being taunted, so what does that tell you?"

"Bradley was an accomplice?"

"Well, he obviously wasn't the leader."

"No, let's not rule that out yet." Morgan took a few steps away from his female counterpart, still pondering the suspiciousness of the situation.

"The BAU's conducting an investigation. You're off duty, no sense troubling yourself with this."

Morgan spun around. "What are you talking about, this is troubling to me. We've got more victims, an unsolved case and two lives that could still be in danger here if in fact Charles Bradley wasn't the end all be all. My time off isn't important..."

"The bureau will handle it," rebutted CJ before he could completely finish his statement.

"Last time I checked, I was apart of the bureau," fired back Morgan, before raising a brow. "Are you trying to say something to me right now?"

"Do you really want to do this now?" questioned CJ, her tone lowering slightly.

Morgan's suspicion continued to grow. "Do what now," he questioned, confused. "What are you talking about…" He stopped short as he started to piece together the puzzle. "Wait a minute…It's been less than a week since the incident, you suddenly show up here out of the blue after I've been told by the office that I've got 'time off from work…'" He stopped short once more after gathering all of the evidence and coming up with the truth.

"Derek…" began CJ, realizing what he knew what was going on.

"That son of a bitch…" smirked Morgan, cynically and angrily.

"Derek…."

He cut her off. "He suspended me and didn't even have the balls to do it to my face?"

She realized she more than likely wasn't going to get much of a word in edgewise as his tirade was only beginning. "Derek it wasn't…"

"And you were in on this whole thing?"

"I wasn't…"

"The hell you wasn't!" he bellowed, interrupting her again, much to her chagrin.

"Derek, Hotch didn't suspend you! It was Strauss!"

Morgan paused momentarily. "Chief Strauss personally suspended me?"

"She was getting heat from FBI brass about a young agent proving himself to be incapable of composure and professionalism in the field, and she diverted that pressure towards Hotch and put pressure on him to suspend you. Hotch refused, and saw through her intimidation tactics and once she realized he knew she wasn't going to suspend him, she made the decision to suspend you herself."

"Then why was I allowed to leave with my gun and…" Morgan stopped short once again, throwing the final missing piece into the puzzle of a situation as CJ stood quietly, looking down at the floor. "That's why you're here," he muttered as she continued avoiding eye contact.

"I was just…" she had started to look up at him but couldn't get her sentence out before he had once again cut her off.

"Oh wow," reacted Morgan with another cynical smile. "They send you here to here to drop the bombshell and then waltz outta here with my credentials and glock, huh? How flattering for you, Agent McClure."

"You know what," began CJ, reacting out of frustration, "don't be pissed off at me because you thought you were immune to the ramifications of playing Rambo!"

Morgan turned around and inched towards her, lowering his face down to hers. "I continue to stand by my actions," he uttered faintly, solitarily. "They might not have been as by the book as the bureau likes, but if they think protocol is more important than saving lives, then they can go to hell." Derek then started to walk away before she started reaching out for him.

"You don't mean that," she challenged.

Morgan turned around and started subtly easing towards her again. "I don't? Oh well, please, Clarissa Joe, enlighten me. You know, it's no secret I've been looked down upon since I got here. I'm 26 years old, I get it, I'm the rookie, the pretty boy with the hot temper who gets too emotionally involved. But I've shown, since day one, that I'm more than capable of doing my job and doing exactly what I took this job to do, and that's to protect the innocent. Sometimes to do that you have to go on instinct and not pander to politics and posturing."

"Derek, you massacred Charles Bradley…" muttered CJ, almost in a plea of trying to get him to understand why he was in such hot water with the bureau.

"SO WHAT?" roared Morgan. The outburst caught CJ off guard as her heart jumped in her chest. The look in his eyes was that of sheer anger – anger over the thought that he was apparently expected to feel remorse for what he did to a remorseless child abusing killer – remorse which he honestly knew he couldn't even force himself to feel. "Since when the hell was it our job to start caring more about those who commit the crimes than those who are the victims of these crimes?"

His tone suddenly dropped slightly as that cynical smile returned. "Sweetheart, did you not hear everything Steven said that those kids went through? I'm amazed that all of that can be overlooked because I may have gotten a little trigger happy in the heat of the moment."

"Derek, you completely snapped!" she bellowed back. "Snapping is a sign of weakness and shows that you are incapable of handling situations that you're always going to have to deal with as long as you're doing this job."

Morgan's face swiftly grew serious. "Let me tell you something," he began softly, but firm. "You hurt a child, like that sick bastard did, and you deserve to get a taste of how it feels. Except Charles is dead. He doesn't have to live with the scars that these kids have to carry for the rest of their lives. 3 year old Michael Dawson couldn't defend himself while at the mercy of a man who I knew had every intention on killing him. I made sure to put Charles Bradley in that same type of situation. He reached for a firearm. I see it as justified. If the bureau would rather be up to its ears in pandering, then maybe I'm not cut out for this job after all."

"Derek, our job is to understand how these killers think so we can track them down and get them off the streets."

"I did that," retorted Morgan rather quickly.

"No, you became the killer. There's a difference. You became what we hunt, and that's not what our job is about. Our job is to stop evil, not to spread it, not to even know where it came from. We're a force against it, not with it."

"CJ, I was thinking…"

"…about Michael, I know. But think about what Michael saw in that bedroom that night. Think about the violence you subjected him to. He sees one person brutally gunning another down – the repetitive ear bursting gunshots, all the blood. That's not any less of a frightening sight for an already traumatized child."

Morgan became silent, contemplating her words to a certain extent as his eyes once again wandered off into his peripheral sight. He closed his mouth and bunched his lips together as he often did when he was given an earful to consider.

"Yeah, you were thinking about Michael," continued CJ, softly, "but you were moreso thinking about living up to your alpha male spirit. You didn't like seeing that child hurt, so you went out of your way to hurt the unsub – not stop him, hurt him. How does the old expression go? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth? That's when it gets personal, and that's what the bureau tries to avoid."

"So you agree with Strauss's decision?"

"Hell no!" she exclaimed, much to his surprise. "You didn't even give me a chance to say that we're all fighting it, including Hotch AND Gideon. You deserved some flack, but not a suspension. Bradley had a weapon, and firing was justified. It got personal, but it didn't get in the way of you doing your job. You put together a damn good profile and we were able to corner the suspect and rescue those kids. Now we have a chance to try and help them receive better care, and a better life. I don't think that deserves a suspension."

Morgan didn't want to admit it, but once again, she had a point. It had gotten personal. He didn't want to hash it over now, as a sudden thought, irrelevant to the conversation, suddenly hit him like a bolt of lightning. "What did you say was written on the note?" He found himself straying from the dialogue to nurture that thought while it was still fresh.

CJ was a bit suspicious to his sudden digression. "The words 'I'll see him soon.' The crime lab is running it for prints, why?" 

"I just thought of something."

CJ started to slowly pick up the pace. "Sounds like they're hunting someone?" she suggested.

"Yeah, but why send a message like that to the BAU Headquarters unless it has to do with who they may be hunting?"

"Maybe to announce their intention to hunt one of us."

"Hunting us for getting involved with the case, hunting him…"

"Hunting the man who took down Bradley..."

"Hunting me."

"So they could be after you?"

Morgan folded his arms. "I'd say it's a safe bet. If Bradley was their leader, me killing him could mean they're plotting retaliation."

"Well, it's been about a half hour since that package was delivered. I'd call Gideon back, but I have absolutely no signal now." CJ looked down at her phone, which still was showing no signs of service in the area.

Morgan motioned his head in the direction of a landline sitting on a corner table. "Use my phone," he suggested.

CJ decided to take him up on that offer as she walked over to the table and took the black phone receiver off its hook. She was surprised at what she got. "No dial tone," she uttered, solitarily.

That caught Morgan off guard. "What?" He then walked over to the table and took the phone receiver from her, listening for himself. Nothing but silence greeted him at the end. He clicked the receiver button a few times, hoping for the off chance of him getting a dial tone. Still, nothing. It was puzzling to him. His phone had been working fine all day.

"Okay, I don't think it's a coincidence that both our phones are out," observed CJ, suspicion displaying in the tone of her voice.

"This…" He hadn't even gotten the full word out of his mouth before a loud popping noise caused both of them to jump, followed by the sound of glass shattering, the source appearing to have come from the kitchen. Morgan and CJ both spun around, before looking at each other worriedly, thinking one thing and one thing only.

Derek was the first one to dash out of the room towards the two children he left sitting at the kitchen table. He was greeted by a screaming 3 year old, which immediately sent him into protect mode as he rushed for Michael with a frantic expression plaguing his face. CJ was in quickly behind him, searching the room for Steven. He wasn't anywhere in sight, which sent her into a mild panic.

"Derek, I don't see Steven." 

Morgan's heart started to beat heavily in his chest as he looked around the area while staying near the toddler. His eyes became hung on a site that caused his heartbeat to accelerate even more. "CJ…" he uttered, almost breathlessly.

The female agent glanced over at him briefly before her eyes would naturally jump over to the direction he appeared to be looking. What she saw caught her off guard. "Steven!" she exclaimed frantically, rushing to his aid, on instinct. Getting closer, she discovered him lying face down on the floor next to one of the kitchen chairs, motionless. Her heart rate had also accelerated at this point as she feared the worst.

Morgan wrapped the 3 year old child in his arms and not a moment too soon. More shrill bursts greeted them as Derek hit the floor with a firm grip on Michael, glass shards flying through the air, not discriminating as to where they would land. It was apparent that shots were being fired at the house from outside the kitchen window, much to everyone's apparent surprise.

Michael's crying intensified as he clung onto Morgan's torso for dear life, the ear bursting sounds too much for him to handle as his mind flashed right back to that fateful night in the bedroom of that house. Derek tried his best to shield the child with his body as he himself showed signs of worry and fear – fear for what was to come of this sudden development. In that moment, he was more concerned with the safety of the kids than that of himself.

Through the legs of the table he could see CJ shaking Steven, apparently trying to get him to come to. The teenager appeared to be out cold, showing no signs of consciousness whatsoever. He was still lying flat on his stomach, in a planking position with his arms strewn about on his side. "Is he okay?" called Morgan as more bullets continued to fly through the window, scaring Michael more and more with each shot fired. CJ didn't respond as she tried desperately to flip him over to check for any signs of trauma.

After continuous struggle, she had finally succeeded at her goal, but was not greeted with anything good.


End file.
